


Light My Candle

by lottielovebuzz



Category: Rent - Larson, Supernatural
Genre: Cas is Mimi, Dean is Roger, M/M, so in a way it makes this Roger/Mimi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lottielovebuzz/pseuds/lottielovebuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's trying to write one last song before he dies and Cas needs his candle lit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light My Candle

**Author's Note:**

> i was listening to Light My Candle whilst walking my dogs, and as with every single thing in my life, i went straight to DeanCas and thus, this was born. don't even ask, just know i had fun writing it!!

Dean sits on the table, strumming away at his cheap Fender guitar, trying to fight back the urge to throw it away. It doesn't sound right; it doesn't sound the same. Tuneless, broken, no good; just like him. He strums out another tune.

' _I'm writing one last song before I -'_ He stops short. He can't finish that. There's no way in hell he can finish that. He's not ready to go; he knows he's not got long left. A year? Maybe two? But it's not as long as he wants and he's sick of Sammy always asking him what he's going to do; what he's working on. 

_One last, great song before I go_. It's pathetic. There's no way he's going to finish it in time. How the hell is he going to finish it in time? He can't even string two chords together right. 

He groans and sets the guitar down on the table, letting the clang of it hitting the metal silence his thoughts, even if it is for a second. Sam's away, left for a 'life support' meeting with nothing more than the reminder to "take your AZT". 

He sighs and runs a hand over his face, when a knock sounds at the door and his head whirls around. Probably Sam. The idiot probably forgot some film for his stupid camcorder. 

He stands from his seat on the table, boots hitting the cold floor with a thud. He walks over to the door, hand grasping the handle and before he's even got the door open, he's asking, 'What'd you forget?' 

Instead of being greeted by his brother's freakishly tall body, he's instead greeted by a pair of bright blue eyes. That's the only thing he seems to notice, those bright, azure, sparkling eyes, framed by thick dark lashes. Any further words die on his lips as the stranger extends his hand towards him, and Dean vaguely notices he holds a candle in it.

'Got a light?' The stranger asks, voice deep and gravelly, and it makes Dean's stomach lurch towards him. His eyes flicker over the man, noticing the slimness of his waist, hidden under a white shirt with an askew tie under the collar. It's unevenly buttoned and tucked into black dress pants, but somehow, even though they're cheap and unflattering, there's something alluring about him nonetheless.

Dean's eyes trail up to his face again; hair, cheekbones, lips, eyes, lips, eyes. There's something about him… it's like, 'I know you,' Dean starts, because he's positive he knows this stranger. Not by name, not through friends, but he _knows_ him from somewhere, but then he notices something else, 'You're - you're shivering.'

The stranger steps further into the flat, almost taking Dean's reply as an invitation. He doesn't move any further forward, however, just rests his back against the frame of the door and shrugs, 'It's nothing, they turned off my heat, and I'm just a little weak on my feet, would you light my candle?' 

Dean tugs off his leather jacket half way through his reply, before he drapes it over the man's shoulders, watching as his hand comes up, long elegant fingers curling around the brown fabric to pull it closer to him, making it stay on. Dean then reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the matches that he always carries and strikes it against the coarse edge to light it. He cups his free hand around the wick of the candle when the stranger extends it towards him. 

Dean's green eyes flicker up to his face once more, meeting those startling blue eyes briefly before trailing down over his face, locking on his lips mostly, but also taking in his nose, cheekbones, hair. 

'What are you staring at?' He questions, a smirk tugging at his lips and Dean swallows as he shakes the flame on the match out.

'Nothing, your hair in the moonlight.' Dean answers, and it's partly true. He did _look_ at his hair, noticing the shine the messy mop of inky black hair had, as it glimmered under the moonlight (God and he calls himself a songwriter), but it's not entirely true. It'll do though, so will, 'You look familiar.' 

The stranger turns to leave, still wearing Dean's jacket but before he even gets out the door, he stumbles, his free hand coming up to grab the frame in order to straighten himself. Dean steps forward, hands extended ready to catch him if he needs to, 'Can you make it?' 

He turns back to Dean, the grin on his plump lips wider than before as he answers, 'Just haven't eaten much today,' he turns back around and walks further into Dean's apartment, surveying the room with those amazing eyes of his eyes. 'At least the room's stopped spinning, anyway.' 

His back is still on Dean as he looks over at the table and spots Dean's guitar, but he doesn't ask about the instrument, he instead retorts rather snappily, 'What?'

Dean's got an apology on his lips, but it dies the second he turns around and Dean can see there's a teasing smile on his lips. He's joking, he's teasing, he's… _flirting_.

'Nothing. You're smile reminded me of-' 

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence, his stranger doesn't let him.

'I always remind people of. Who is she?' 

'She died… her name was Lisa.' Dean replies, trying not to think about how she died or why she died or the fact she died. 

The stranger turns his back on him, and when he knows Dean can't see, he raises the candle close to his lip and blows, extinguishing the flame. 'It's out again!' He turns around, lifting the candle up so Dean can see it's no longer lit, and he tries to look as innocent as possible. He's not sure whether Dean knows he blew the candle out himself, but he doesn't really care. 'Sorry 'bout your friend. Would you light my candle?'

It turns out Dean doesn't know he blew out the candle himself, otherwise he wouldn't fish out another match and strike it for a flame, before leaning forward and pressing it against the wick to light the candle once more. 

'Well,' Dean says as he shakes the match out, before throwing it to the floor. The stranger's looking at him with those big blue eyes, studying him with an open-mouthed smirk on his lips, revealing a set of white teeth.

'Yeah?' He moves in closer, both hands coming to wrap around the candle he holds. He's in Dean's personal space now, but he doesn't move any further for he exclaims, 'Ow!' His hand snaps away from the candle and he shakes it, fingers coming up to his mouth to press his lips to them, trying to cool the burn.

'Oh, the wax, it's -' Dean reaches a finger out, pointing towards the wax that's running down the side of the candle, leaving a shiny trail.

'Dripping.' The stranger interrupts, removing his finger from his lips in an instant and wrapping it around Dean's. He tugs Dean closer, the smirk not fading despite the burn he just received. 'I like it between my-'

Dean jerks backwards when he feels the man's leg slide between his, rubbing him in a way that's everything that he wants, and nothing that he deserves. Not when he's… disaster. 

'Fingers!' He finishes for him, not really wanting to hear the end of that sentence. Not when he's determined to get the stranger to leave. How could Dean say no to him if he ever finished that sentence? He just couldn't. It would be impossible. 'I figured. Oh well, goodnight.' 

He waves his hand towards the door, making it totally clear to his stranger that he needs to go. The man studies Dean's face for a second before he walks past him, hand reaching into the pocket at the back of his pants. He blows the candle out because he needs a reason to get back in later on, right? But he stops at the door when he realises something. Without even thinking about it, he knocks on the door again, even though he knows Dean's still watching him and probably won't let him back in.

'It blew out again?' Dean questions and there's a hint of amusement in his voice that makes the stranger smile. 

The stranger turns around but doesn't even bother looking at Dean, his eyes go straight to the floor, trying to find what he's looking for. 'No, I think that I dropped my stash.' 

'I know I've seen you out and about, when I used to go out.' Dean admits, biting his bottom lip so briefly as he watches the stranger pace around his room, trying to find his stash. 'Your candle's out.' 

Distract him. Distract him from finding it; it's dirty and dangerous and he should be helping someone stop. That's what he tells himself. It's been a year since he had a hit… maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have another - no! One year clean, don't throw it away, especially after what it did to Lisa. 

'I'm illin', I had it when I walked in the door,' the stranger casts his eyes back over to the door, pursing his lips when his little clear bag isn't anywhere to be found around there. 'It was _pure_!' He whines, before an idea pops into his head and he can't stop himself. 'Is it on the floor?'

'The floor?' Dean asks confused, because yeah, if it's gonna be anywhere, it's going to be on the floor. However, he doesn't get a chance to expand on the matter for the stranger drops to his knees and then slides onto his hands so he's on all fours, pretending to search for his stash, but it's a little hard when he can feel Dean's eyes on him.

'They say that I have the best ass below 14th Street,' the stranger explains, before he shimmies back and arches his back, sticking his ass further in the air for Dean's viewing. 'Is it true?' 

It takes Dean a moment to hear the question, and takes him another moment to fully process it, and when he does, his green eyes dart away from the stranger's ass and to his face, which is staring at him, turned over his shoulder to grin at Dean. 

'What?' 

'You're _staring_ again!' The stranger states, grinning at how flustered Dean is, before he slowly stands. He leans over, though, instead of going upright and he's right in front of Dean and can hear his sharp intake of breath and he grins.

'Oh, no! I mean… you do have a nice -' Dean nods, his eyes flickering back to the stranger's ass, despite the fact he's fully upright now. He trails off with a strangled sound in the back of his throat, as if he can't decide if he wants to finish the sentence or not. He shakes his head, closes his eyes, gets his thoughts straight, and when he opens them, his mind is clear. 'I mean, you look familiar.' 

'Like your dead girlfriend.' He retorts and despite the fact Dean can no longer see him, for he's sitting on the table and the stranger has resumed crawling about the floor, he can just hear the eye roll. 

'Only when you smile,' Dean reminds. 'But I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else.' 

It hasn't escaped his thoughts since the second he opened the door and saw the stranger standing there with his candle extended towards him. He _knows_ he's seen him somewhere.

The stranger sighs softly, 'Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work… I _dance_.' 

'Yes!' Dean exclaims, pointing a finger towards him as he comes back into view. The stranger turns to him, eyes closed off this time, no teasing smirk on his lips, almost as if he's afraid of what Dean's going to say next. 'They used to tie you up!' 

'It's a living.' He replies instead, the light, joking tone from before no longer in his voice. He sounds small, lost, almost afraid. Dean can't bear to see him like that.

He makes sure he has the stranger's gaze before saying, 'I didn't recognise you without the handcuffs.' 

There's a smirk on Dean's lips and when he mimes being handcuffed with his hands above him, and sees how wide the stranger smiles at the joke, it's easy enough for the smile to widen on Dean's lips. Oh God, he can't remember he smiled this much… his cheeks are starting to hurt!

The stranger crawls over to him, candle in hand as he kneels in front of Dean, 'We could light the candle.' He stands and then sits down beside him on the table, his eyes briefly flickering over to Dean's Fender that still rests forgotten beside him. 'Won't you light the candle?' 

Dean sighs, despite the smile still on his face and he lights the candle for his stranger once more. He lets the match drop to the floor before he declares, 'Why don't you forget that stuff? You look like you're sixteen!' 

He should be sixteen. That would put him off limits for Dean; he couldn't act on his impulse then, he'd have to let the stranger leave and never see him again. He wouldn't have to tell him… he wouldn't have to tell him. 

'I'm _nineteen_!' He declares loudly, standing up from the table with a indignant look in his eyes. However, it falls off a second later, as if he remembers who he's talking to; where he is and what he's doing, and a smirk replaces it again. 'But I'm old for my age, I'm just born to be bad.' 

'I once was born to be bad.' Dean admits, crossing his arms over his chest and he slides of the table too, but he takes a moment and just leans against it, deciding following him about would be giving in. 'I used to shiver like that.' 

The stranger looks lost for a second; looks small and almost scared. 

'I have no heat, I _told_ you.' He says, turning his back on Dean and looking on the floor again. He makes it sound easy; makes it sound like you can just quit cold-turkey. 

'I used to sweat.' 

'I got a _cold_.' 

'Uh-uh,' Dean hums, and despite the subject and all the thoughts they're dragging up, he can't help but smile a little at the stranger's determination. He's trying his hardest to convince Dean it's just a small, one-time thing, but Dean knows better. It's never ever just a small, one-time thing. 'I used to be a junkie.' 

The stranger doesn't seem to listen to that statement, just hums, 'But now and then I like to feel good.' 

Dean rolls his eyes and then his sight catches a small bag on the floor, filled with white powder and he ducks down to lift it up, 'Oh here!'

'What's that?' 

'Oh, candy-bar wrapper.' Dean lies, slipping the bag into the back pocket of his jeans. The stranger just narrows his bright blue eyes at him before he shakes his head, and lifts his hand that still holds the alight candle. 

'We could light the candle.' He suggests, crowding closer and closer to Dean, who does the first thing he can think of and blows the candle out. Dean stumbles back so he's sitting on the table once more, his hands catching himself on either side of his legs, grasping the edge of the table. 'What'd you do with my candle?'

He throws the candle to the floor, sliding in to sit beside Dean. 

'That was my last match.' 

'Our eyes'll adjust; thank God for the moon.' 

Dean turns away from him, fighting back the grin on his face. 'Maybe it's not the moon at all. I hear Spike Lee's shooting down the street.'

'Bah humbug!' The stranger snaps, and Dean's eyes whirl around to face him once more. He's still wearing that teasing grin on his face, and Dean can't get over the fact he's that kind of person; that can sound so serious when they're joking. Dean can't do it. Everyone knows when he's lying or joking or pretending to be mad. But this man… it's scarily good. Then again, maybe he's had practice. 

'Bah humbug.' He repeats and before Dean can even think about it, the stranger's lifted his hand from it's place clutching the table. He turns it over, examining the lines. Running his long elegant fingers down over his palm, over his wrist, pressing against his pulse.

'Cold hands.' Dean mutters, unable to talk any louder. One little twitch of his fingers and he could entwine them with the stranger. There's no way in hell he can let that happen.

He hums, 'Yours too. _Big_ ,' he adds and if he weren't still studying Dean's hands, Dean's positive he would've sent a wink to him. 'Like my father's. Do you wanna dance?' 

Dean doesn't get a chance to answer, to tell him he doesn't dance, because the stranger is hauling him from his seat on the table and forcing him to stand. Heat surges through him when he realises that the stranger has in fact entwined their hands together; they're holding hands. Oh goodness, why don't they just kill him now? He's not going to get anywhere once he tells him his dirty secret. 

'With you?' 

' _No_ ,' there's the eye roll again. 'With my father.' 

Dean bites his plump lower lip, watches as the stranger moves closer to him and wraps one arm around his waist. 'I'm Dean.' 

The stranger grins at him, 'They call me,' another arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer so they're pressed chest to chest. 'They call me,' he feels his hands wander down his back to his ass, feels his fingers dance delicately over him. 'Castiel.' 

Then all of a sudden, he's gone. Thrusting away from Dean with a triumphant smile on his face as he dangles his bag of smack in front of Dean, grin widening when he notices Dean's fallen expression. 

'Told you it was pure.' Castiel declares, before he winks at Dean and walks away, sliding the door shut behind him and leaving Dean alone with only one thought circling his mind.

_What the hell just happened?_

**Author's Note:**

> enjoying this fic?? I'd love you forever if you bought me a coffee!! ko-fi.com/cahwrites


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